Stumbling on her new feet
A regular fish out of water
Wanting her brain and heart to meet
The former to talk some sense to the latter

Wistful for the melancholy seas
Nostalgic for those left behind
It is on land where uncertainty breaks free
A plaintive wail for those of her kind

Foreign land stretching afar
On pale limbs she has yet to adopt
How crashingly desolate will it be to explore
To make use of this magic she has yet to exploit

A wriggle of her toes
Jaw clenched in determination
She stands by the decision she chose
To search for the source of her affection

He's out there, she'll find him
No matter the stakes
She'll stand on her two feet
And wait as long as it takes

I look down at my feet,
toes adorned with chipped nail varnish,
a pitiful plaster clinging to the sole,
and I grimace at the
purple marks, reddening blisters,
cicatrices of stories long forgotten.
The ***** of my feet are thin and worn,
my heels rubbed raw from
shoes I have loved and shoes I have detested,
faded scars from childhood accidents.
I have aged hating my feet,
the discoloured skin, dotted with odious callouses,
my throbbing, wrinkled soles.

They have grown with me,
from tiny clumps unrecognisable as a foetus,
to wide, long size 7s.
My toes are misshapen, twisting this way and that,
freckled with sun kisses from foreign countries.
They’ve been battered and bruised
repeatedly,
victims of my hurtling abuse and mortal neglect.
I have punished them
with verruca socks and freezing ointments,
pin ******, small shoes, razor blades, nail clippers and
not once
have I nurtured them, soaked them with praise.

These feet have walked me up mountains,
aided me in athletic championships,
withstood six inch heels on weekends,
ran me through marathons,
enduring my never-ending physical torment and though
they may buckle,
with weeping blisters and aching pains,
dry skin, broken bones and sprained ankles,
they will recover,
rebuilding the scabrous skin.
Regardless of how unstable my life may become in later years,
whether I am stranded on a deserted island,
or walking the ***** streets of the city, no room to call my own,
my feet will always,
undoubtedly, lead me to safety.
And when I am old
and withered, an exhausted heap of human life,
with my last dying breath,
I will thank my durable, reliable feet.

He had a hole in his had
That thing that is dead
Grandad use to wake him up by pinching his toes
But no one knows that he is a demon
Waiting for you to fall asleep
And close your eyes
That beautiful creature in the night
Cut out his eyes
Sliced off his nose
His lips were already gone
He could talk to grandad no more
He lives in the scary
But he can see clearly in the dark
He blows out the candles to make himself feel better
Hell cut off your toes and make himself some clothes
That's what happens when there's a blanket over your head
He killed your dad and now he's dead
Where's mom
Eek
He's behind
Her shadow
He's getting her now too
And there's blood poring from her shoes
You are barely breathing and your color is draining
Outside its raining to wash away the blood
In the morning there'll be bags and bodies and a crowd
But right now
Shows over and your feet are mangled over the bed they dangle
Now he can see them from a better angle

I was swept near your shore, thinking it was
a place to land I put my feet in your thoughts
we laughed at the sunset as we drew smiley
face emojoes then the sunset on our moment.

The next few times I drifted close but winds of
change gently nudged me away. was our
moment in the sun slowly fading into memory?
then I stepped out cautiously and said these words.

"I think I like you more than just friend,

But I was not permitted again to land upon
her thoughts, not in that attention the way
I was before. what had changed why was it
that my sails now blew a different way.

"I like you, I think of you everyday,
"Your a close friend always on my mind,

Those few words "I like you, this is the
moment my sails deflated. This shore now
had reefs that friends now were kept from,
the heart loves but in many different ways.

I sail the friends zone, I'm still close to her.
Not the way I wanted, the sand never beneath
my feet. But we still laugh and we  still talk but
I'll never be in her heart, the one place I want to be.

-on a Miami academic being sued
   for fetish ****** harassment

Quitchie of Reid,
you and your electric feet -
you make my safety fuses blow
when I see the tapping of your toe,
slowly touching a tile beneath.

Have mercy on a man in chains,
whose decency goes down the drains
once tortured by the endlessly enthralling sight
of your hot, sweet, cruel might
that boils the blood inside his veins.

Ah... Quitchie of Lewd,
you're so electro-cute.
One day my arm will stretch,
your soles, your toes, your nails I'll catch
and down I'll go in flames -
happy, void and mute.

There once was a ******* the news
They say she liked to eat shoes
Keep on your feet
When it's time to eat
Or you may be the next victim to lose

My feet what can I say, well they're not the bravest
little things, not small but average I think.
well I put them out the sheets and what did they
do scurry back in was it cold was it warm, who knows?

All I know is that it was pitch black darker inside than
outside because stars twinkle down little light bulbs
of above slightly lighting things gently down below.

My feet what can I say, that flat foot that wanders
wherever it goes I don't know, my body just follows
those ten little digits and the  flat palm of my feet.

I am but a traveller on this journey they don't mind
when it's light, this is their favourite time. But  a "BOO,
and I'm standing there while my feet are running away
In to the horizon and then I follow in the distance.

My feet what can I say, they're not the bravest of appendages,
When they get spooked they run a mile in under a minute.
But the only problem is what are they connected to when
they leave. "I'm like I be back in a whileeeeeee!!!,

I'm out of breath but there on the spot jogging up and down
and for what a sneeze a shout and then there out. I put my
hands on my knees to keep them eased, to the spot they must
stay I look down and i know that they want to walk, run off again.

I can't blame it, just on the palms of my feet those dam digits
they have their own thoughts. Like a centipede they linger in
the thought of moving where I want to stand in a static form.
But we think we are in control but look below it's those appendages.

Your beheaded savior lies at your feet. Blood of the innocent fill the street. decaying bodies mangled meat, this is what must be done, to fulfill the feat. Take a seat and watch the cleansing balance. The bringer of truth, the bringer of light. Now you Have it. Some atrocities are done for the greater right.the world in your hands, trampled under feet.